


Loose Change

by araliya



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: High School ish, M/M, coffee shop AU, how did I manage to not write something angsty, totally cheesy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 16:55:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12775359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/araliya/pseuds/araliya
Summary: Darren uses his questionable skills to get Chris' attention in a Coffee Shop.





	Loose Change

**Author's Note:**

> I got a prompt for a Coffee Shop AU so here it is! This is also my first time writing non canon, so tell me what you think in the comments!

The boy who walks into the cafe is such a  cliché it makes Chris’ writer brain  _ hurt _ . He’s got dark curly hair that falls haphazardly into his eyes, low slung jeans, an ill-fitting t-shirt clinging to his almost comically compact frame, and a smile so brilliant it could cure cancer. The shirt, emblazoned with ‘ _ Bernstein’s Theatre Club Presents: Fiddler On The Roof!’ _ across the front, stretches tightly across his shoulders and bunches up at his waist. 

 

A prep-school theatre kid. Of course. 

 

Chris would almost roll his eyes if it weren’t for the fact that he was literally a walking stereotype himself-  sitting alone at a table in a  _ fucking coffee shop _ , decidedly unstylish glasses perched on his nose, balancing his fingers on a laptop keyboard in the hopes that he could finally wring some words out onto the screen. 

 

Words are usually his only outlet, and having writer’s block is like plugging up one of those flasks in chemistry class, watching as condensation collects and drips on the inside with the collecting pressure, but not being able to pull off the cork not matter how hard you try. 

 

He likes theatre too, but he’s always getting cast as ‘Oak Tree Number Three’ or something equally obscure because the directors can’t seem to look past his high voice and slightly effeminate looks. 

 

Chris drags himself out of what he knows is an impending wallow, and returns his attention to Frodo. He’s greeted the girl behind the counter so enthusiastically it makes them look like long lost lovers, and seems to be babbling incessantly about something that has the girl hanging on to his every word. 

 

Chris could almost laugh at the way she leans forward imperceptibly, toying with the pendant around her neck in a way that she must think is subtle. He snorts inwardly. It’s not like Frodo’s  _ that _ drool-worthy anyway. He’s kind of short, and there’s a bump on the bridge of his nose, and his curls are too wild, and his smile his too wide, and his eyes are too bright, almost a burnished honey colour- and  _ no no no, stop for fuck’s sake, you’re losing it.  _

 

_ He’s straight anyway _ , Chris thinks bitterly, if the way Frodo runs his fingers flirtatiously along the girl’s arm is anything to go by. He’s had a long list of guys that have caught his attention, taken up pages and pages of Chris’ writing- (usually a lovesick mess that he deletes immediately afterwards in self-disgust) -that have turned out to be painfully unattainable. What else should he expect, in this backwards cowtown? 

 

Oh God, he really is a cliché. Troubled writer itching to escape to the big city and chase his hopes and dreams while pining after boys he can never have? Check, check and  _ check _ . 

 

Fuck, he’s fast approaching dangerous wallowing territory again. Chris can’t do that or he’ll take  _ fucking forever  _ to get out. He instead distracts himself with Frodo, who is now talking to another guy who’s come out from the back room. How is this kid friends with  _ everyone _ ?

 

All three of them are in animated conversation- well, Frodo mostly, since he seems to be incapable of keeping his mouth shut for more than ten seconds. His arms flail excitedly as he speaks, and Chris catches something about basements and live shows and backups. He’s kind of a character, Chris thinks idly. Maybe he could work him into a story somewhere. 

 

Chris startles out of his inner monologue when Frodo practically  _ squeals _ , grabbing the new guy by the face and planting a smacking kiss on his cheek. 

 

_ Oh.  _

 

Either Frodo enjoys flirting with anything that moves or that’s his boyfriend. It has to be the former- god, Chris  _ hopes _ it’s the former, but what is he  _ thinking _ , he doesn’t even know this guy. He could be gay or straight or taken or fucking  _ betrothed-  _ (who knows, straight people are crazy)- for all Chris could care, and of course he doesn’t care, why should he? 

 

He doesn’t realise he’s been staring until New Guy gestures with his head over Frodo’s shoulder at him and they all turn to look. 

 

Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck _ . Chris can feel himself flushing down to his roots, and he glues his eyes to his laptop screen as if they’ve been there all along. His face is probably  _ burning _ up right now, he knows it. Are his glasses fogging over? Oh, for fuck’s sake-

 

_ Please look away, please look away, please look away, _ he repeats like a mantra. 

 

They probably do eventually, but Chris wouldn’t know- he’s too busy staring at his reflection in the screen and silently sweating. 

Nonchalantly, he begins to pack up his things, deciding that it would be better to leave than to suffer the awkwardness of facing them again. 

 

Chris hears Frodo pay for something at the counter and speeds up his packing, hastily zipping up his laptop case. He barely gets his arms into the sleeves of his jacket when there is an almighty crash, and coins are suddenly pinging across the floor around his feet. 

 

He looks up to find Frodo a couple of feet away, drenched in coffee, grimacing. 

 

“Shit, are you okay?” Chris asks, scrambling out of his chair towards him and grabbing a wad of napkins off his table. Immediately he wants to hit himself because  _ obviously _ this guy wouldn’t be okay, his shirt is literally steaming from the heat of the boiling milk. 

 

Frodo accepts the napkins and winces as he peels away the material from his torso. “Thanks, man. I guess that was god telling me I never needed that extra sugar anyway, it would kind of all go to my old man paunch.”

 

He lifts his shirt and pats his stomach affectionately and Chris’ mouth goes dry because that is probably the furthest thing from an old man paunch he can think of. His face heats up and he deflects by dropping to the ground and scooping up change, if anything to stop himself from telling Frodo that. 

 

“Hey, hey, you don’t have to do that,” Frodo says amicably, crouching down next to him and swatting at Chris’ hands. “Let me.”

 

They collect up the coins, and Chris is slightly confused by how many there are. There’s about ten bucks worth of quarters and dollar coins, and he piles them into Frodo’s cupped hands. They probably didn’t have enough notes in the register, or something. 

 

Frodo’s no longer paying attention to the coins in his palm and is now staring right at him, and Chris is suddenly hyper aware of how close together their faces are. He pulls back quickly, and in a  _ severe  _ overestimation of the space between him and the table, hits his head against it-  _ hard _ .

 

Pain shoots right through his skull, his eyes watering, and Chris would be more concerned about the state of his cranium if he weren’t  _ mortally  _ embarrassed right now. Suddenly Frodo is the one asking if he’s okay, and holding out a (coin-free) hand to pull him out from underneath the table. 

 

They’re still holding hands when Chris finally comes to his senses (good lord, another terrible rom-com moment), and he kind of stares down at their connected fingers before looking up- wait, no,  _ down _ , at Frodo, who’s peering at him in concern. 

 

“You okay? The sound of your head hitting that table kind of scared me.” 

 

He lifts his hand to Chris’ hair, probably to feel for a bump, but Chris wouldn’t know because he’s an  _ idiot _ , and jerks away from Frodo’s touch reflexively. He immediately feels bad, though, because Frodo looks like a kicked puppy. 

 

“I’m fine,” he manages to get out, squeezing Frodo’s hand in apology before letting go, praying to the heavens above that he’s not as red as his face feels. Chris’ hand feels kind of empty without Frodo’s there and he busies himself, collecting up his neatly piled things still resting on that goddamn table. 

 

“Oh, uh- are you going?” Frodo asks, eyes still huge and round and  _ adorable _ and- 

 

“Um, yeah? I kind of need to be home soon.”

 

“Let me buy you a coffee?” 

Chris kind of  _ dies _ inside but gestures to his empty coffee cup, still sitting on its saucer. He would’ve asked for a Diet Coke when he came in, but he wanted the true world-weary writer experience. 

 

“I could buy you another? As a sorry for indirectly causing your almost-concussion?” Frodo suggests and  _ why  _ does he want to get Chris a coffee so much and  _ how  _ is this actually happening to him, but he raises an eyebrow gracefully (he hopes) and replies with a quiet, 

 

“That was definitely due to my clumsiness, but sure.”

 

Frodo grins his million-watt smile, and Chris is practically putty inside when he tugs on the shoulder strap of Chris’ bag to lead them over to the counter. 

 

“What are you having?” 

 

Chris has decided he kind of hates coffee (soda’s doing well enough contributing to his daily dose of caffeine), so he asks for a hot chocolate, and Frodo repeats it back to Groupie Girl (whose name tag reads:  _ Jess _ ). She smirks and looks over to New Guy who rolls his eyes, and shit, he forgot that guy was still there. 

 

“Hot chocolate coming right up for…?”

 

Chris startles out of his jealousy ridden thoughts of Frodo and New Guy doing decidedly non platonic things together and quickly gives his name before he can look like even more of an idiot in front of the three of them. 

 

Once Jess has gone to the far end of the displays to prepare his drink, tugging New Guy with her, Frodo turns back to him and repeats, “Chris.”

 

“That’s my name.” He tries to make it sound flirtatious but it kind of comes out pained. 

 

Frodo doesn’t seem perturbed, and holds out his hand for Chris to shake. “I’m Darren.” 

 

Chris has to admit it’s a nice name, and it definitely suits him, although he’s kind of sad he doesn’t have an excuse to call him Frodo any more.  

 

“We’re kind of past introductions, now, aren’t we? I mean, we were kind of having a moment back there.” 

 

Chris means it in a joking way, but Darren looks totally serious when he replies, “Yeah, we kind of were, huh?”

 

There’s a moment of silence as Chris feels the words sink in, and before he can lose all his inhibitions and do something completely atrocious such as _kiss_ _the guy_ , Jess is back with his hot chocolate. 

 

Darren smiles at him again, his eyes flashing honey-gold, before turning out his pockets onto the marble countertop and emptying out the coins. Jess snorts with laughter and opens the register, which Chris is surprised to see is not at all lacking in paper money. 

 

Darren painstakingly counts out $4.50 worth of coins and scoops the rest of them into a tip jar.

 

“Why did you pay him before in change?” Chris asks Jess, who passes over a brown napkin along with his drink. 

 

“This guy specifically requested coins and not cash,” she responds, eyeing Darren, who coughs and mumbles something under his breath.  

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Jess mutters, looking over to New Guy, who grins at them as he serves another customer at the other till. 

 

“Enjoy your drink”, she tells Chris, before picking up a dishcloth and heading over to the back of the store. When she’s gone, Chris raises a confused eyebrow at Darren, who actually seems to be blushing. 

 

“I-uh, wanted to drop the coins,” he explains, slightly abashedly. “In front of you.”

 

“You wanted to drop coins in front of me,” Chris repeats.

 

“Uh, yeah? Because usually I do the falling thing- you know, where you deliberately trip over and they help you up and it’s cute and all? But I thought I’d look like kind of an idiot if I fell in front of you and what if I dropped my coffee  _ on _ you instead and-”

 

“Woah, woah,” Chris interrupts, his mind slightly reeling. “Why would- why would you trip over, or drop your coins, or  _ anything _ in front of me?”

 

Darren looks like him like he’s crazy. “It would have been a good way for you to notice me! I didn’t just randomly want to go up to you and ask for your number, so the next best thing would be to do something stupid as a kind of pickup line antecedent.”

 

“So you dropped coins,” Chris deadpans, trying not to betray his internal squealing because  _ did he just say he wanted Chris’ number  _ and also  _ he just casually used the word antecedent, how is he even real-  _

 

“Come to think of it, they  _ were _ kind of a lot of coins, so that might have made me seem more insane than usual,” Darren muses, maneuvering Chris out of the way of some customers peering at the displays. “I asked Jess for half coins half cash, but I think she wanted to sabotage my plan.”

 

“Your plan to ask for my number,” Chris confirms, because he’s still kind of in shock. 

 

“Yep,” Darren says, walking with Chris out of the store as the bell jingles quaintly. He suddenly stops and looks down at his hand still on Chris’ arm and back up to his face. “You  _ are  _ into guys, right? Fuck, if not, I am  _ so  _ sorry, I did  _ not  _ mean to make you uncomfortable- sometimes my gaydar fails me because I’m bi and all and-”

 

“It’s  _ fine _ , Darren,” Chris laughs. “I am  _ very  _ gay. I mean, with the baby face and the high voice and all, people tend to assume- I’m not exactly subtle.”

 

Darren kind of squints confusedly.  “I only just guessed from the way you were staring at me just then. I didn’t think so before, not when I was watching you from outside-” He stops abruptly, grimacing when Chris’ eyes widen. 

 

“You were watching me from outside?” Chris laughs, acting scandalized (even though he kind of is, just a little, because  _ oh my god _ ). 

 

Darren’s blush rises fast, tainting his-  _ ughh _ \- tanned olive skin. “Oh, uh, yeah. I was on my way home, and I saw you through the window and I don’t know… I kind of felt like I had to talk to you.”

 

“Why?” Chris asks. He gestures vaguely to his off-brand clothing and wire-rimmed glasses. “I’m not exactly very interesting to look at.”

 

“Are you  _ serious _ ?” Darren looks so affronted that Chris kind of wants to laugh. “Well for starters, you had Harry Potter stickers all over your laptop, not to mention you’re like-  _ beautiful _ .” 

 

_ Oh.  _

 

Chris fiddles with the strap of his bag, suddenly unsure of what to say. 

 

“It’s true,” Darren insists. “That and your whole intellectual smart guy vibe- I really just wanted to talk to you.”

 

“I wasn’t even doing anything very smart, though,” Chris protests. “I was just writing.”

 

Darren’s eyes light up. “Writing? Holy shit, that’s so cool, man! Now I really want to ask you out.”  

 

“I don’t even know you,” he counters. 

 

Darren looks at his watch, a frayed and beaten thing that from the looks of the dial, must’ve been expensive. “I’ve got a couple hours until curfew. Do you still have to go home or are you willing to give me a chance?” 

 

Chris takes one look at those puppy dog eyes, and in spite of himself, he  _ melts _ . “Yeah, that was kind of a lie, what I said before. I’ve got time I can sacrifice.” 

 

And that’s how he spends his sunday afternoon. Instead of people-watching in an empty cafe, he’s sipping cold hot chocolate and trying to keep up with a crazy-haired teenager with hypnotizing eyes and an infectious smile. Darren drives them to a lookout a short while away in the mountains ( _ I come here to write songs,  _ Darren tells him) and they talk until dusk. Chris didn’t even know that he could spend more than an hour with a relative stranger without getting uncomfortable, but after a while he feels like he’s known Darren forever. It’s another agonising cliché, but it’s true.

 

Chris has to go eventually, after not four but  _ five _ missed calls from his mom. Darren insists on dropping Chris off at his house, and Chris puts his number into Darren’s phone, knowing that he’ll soon be squealing giddily when he’s in the privacy of his own room.

 

Before he turns to leave, Darren pulls out a quarter that he seems to have salvaged from the coffee shop. 

 

“I don’t want to be presumptuous,” he says, eyes sparkling, “but I’d like to buy a kiss.” 

 

_ Calm, Colfer, calm. Aloof and graceful.  _

 

“You’re kind of a character, you know that?” Chris manages to get out. 

 

“Really? Am I cool enough that you’ll write me into one of your stories?”

 

Chris rolls his eyes, pockets the quarter, and kisses him.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
